


essence

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Come Sharing, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mild Blood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: baby, sweet baby, i want to feel your breatheven though you like to flirt with deathi am waiting for your essence





	essence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplecelery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecelery/gifts).



> Just a little PWP for a dear friend as a thank you (they know what for). <3
> 
> Title and lyrics in the summary borrowed from the incredible Lucinda Williams. That whole song is a big mood. 
> 
> This is basically just porn, no real plot, but because it’s me it turned into feels-y porn. I may have played with the canon timeline a little - I can’t remember whether Silver had his ears pierced before he lost his leg or not, so I just made a choice and ran with it. The only scene with any blood is the ear-piercing one, so don’t be scared if blood isn’t your thing! There’s hardly any at all.

Silver isn’t necessarily trying to seduce his captain. It’s more like it just sort of happens and all at once he’s there, along for the ride. Typical of the way he’s lived his life thus far. 

The first time it almost happens, though, he fails at his not-trying seduction efforts. He’s up in Flint’s personal space, breathing his air, feeling something hot and charged and impossibly irresistible between them. As he leans in, gives in, Flint places one index finger to his lips, stopping him cold. 

“Boundaries, Mr. Silver,” he whispers, hoarse, “are very important.”

The next time, he tries a different approach. It’s been a few months since he lost his leg and he’s starting to feel more— _himself_ , again. He’ll never feel exactly as he did before, of course, but he’s come back around to believing he deserves to feel good. Even if only briefly, even if only once in a blue moon. 

This is how Silver finds himself waiting outside Flint’s cabin door for the man himself, leaning hard on his crutch, feeling a not-unwelcome feverish sensation settling into his gut as he thinks about being alone with his captain. 

When at last Flint arrives, he has the decency to look at least a bit surprised at Silver’s presence there. 

“What are you waiting for?” he asks.

“More,” Silver replies simply. 

Flint stares at him - stares into him, really - and then brushes past him to let them both into the cabin. He shuts the door behind Silver and looks down at him, and Silver hears him exhale hard. 

“You’re certain?” Flint asks, raising one hand like he’s not sure what he’s going to do with it. He rests that hand on Silver’s cheek and Silver turns into it, rubs his face on Flint’s palm. 

“Yes,” he rumbles. 

Then Flint’s mouth is on his and he’s leaning on the closed door, overwhelmed by the sensation of Flint’s kiss. He arches his back and pushes his body into Flint’s, suddenly desperately needy. 

“Easy,” Flint murmurs when he pulls back, and he’s got a crooked grin on his face that Silver wants to attack, to kiss until he’s breathless. He nudges Flint back towards the bed rather clumsily; luckily Flint takes the hint and goes. 

Silver feels as though he’s doing everything clumsily - grabbing at Flint, pulling his hair hard enough to make him hiss a breath between his teeth, trying in vain to wrestle all his clothing off at once. He finds his way somehow, though, and in only moments he’s on his back on Flint’s bed, both of them stripped to the skin. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Flint asks, sounding breathless, as he leans over Silver to grab a small vial from the top drawer of his nailed-down bed table. 

“Forever,” Silver pants, and in that moment it doesn’t feel like hyperbole - it’s only the truth. Then he feels two of Flint’s slick fingers pressing against him and arches into the touch, keening louder than he strictly means to. 

“Shh,” Flint rumbles with surprising tenderness. “Should’ve known you’d be loud.”

Flint stretches him open slowly, achingly so, and Silver shuts his eyes and focuses on the sensation of Flint’s long, skilled fingers within him. 

“Look at me,” Flint says from above him once he’s got three - four? - fingers inside. “John. Open your eyes.”

Silver forces his eyes open then and looks deeply into Flint’s, his breath hitching as Flint withdraws his fingers and shifts forward on his knees. Then he’s maneuvering Silver into position, manhandling him like he weighs nothing, which does incredible things to Silver’s already ridiculous level of arousal. At long last Flint pushes into him, and Silver shouts an ecstatic curse at the ceiling. 

For his part, Flint groans and buries his face in Silver’s neck, wrapping both arms firmly around him. They start to move together then, Silver pushing up into Flint’s embrace and Flint drawing him close, holding him, practically cradling him as he fucks him. 

This is how it goes their first time together - gentle, tender, almost loving despite the mutual desperation. Silver sees stars when he comes, and watches, rapturous, as Flint dips his fingers into the essence on Silver’s stomach and licks them clean. 

The next time is different. At least, it starts off differently. 

The next time, they’ve been into the dark rum and they’re both a little drunk. Then, Silver arrives at the idea of having his ears pierced, and apropos of nothing chooses Flint to do the piercing. 

“You want me to what?” Flint intones, looking at him incredulously. 

“You heard me,” Silver rumbles, wiping his mouth on his arm. 

“But both ears? Really? Do you even have any jewelry?” Flint asks dubiously. 

“No,” Silver sighs, looking sadly down at his bottle of rum. He’s prepared to give up on this plan now that the absurdity of it has been brought to his attention. 

“Here, just a moment,” Flint says, and heaves himself up from behind the desk. When he returns, he’s got a sewing needle in one hand and two small silver hoops in the other. 

“They are...something,” Silver allows as he examines the earrings, rubbing one hand over his chin in thought. “I think they’d suit me.”

“Go and sit on the bed, then. I’ll prepare everything,” Flint says. 

Silver obliges, making his way stiffly to Flint’s bed and sitting on the edge of it, only somewhat nervous. Flint strolls over a moment later with the needle and the earrings, and then he’s sitting in Silver’s lap, straddling his thighs. 

“Uh,” Silver says intelligently. 

“Hold still,” Flint murmurs. 

There’s a sharp, bright pain in his left earlobe, and then, succinctly, in his right. It’s over in a blur of motion and then Flint is sitting back, still in his lap, swiping his thumb over Silver’s tender ear and licking the blood off. 

Silver isn’t sure when he got hard, but he is now, very much so. 

Of course, Flint notices. Of course, his response is to give Silver that same crooked smile, Silver’s blood shining on his lower lip. 

Silver kisses that bloodied grin of his and tips over backwards on the bed, taking Flint down with him. They become one writhing, heaving entity then, and Silver distantly hears a seam or two ripping but doesn’t care whatsoever. He bruises Flint’s neck with his teeth as they strip each other bare. In no time Flint is on top of him, then inside of him, burning hot, bending his left leg back toward his chest and growling a string of filthy admiration down at him. 

“Fuck,” Silver wheezes, arching his back, rocking up toward Flint as Flint thrusts down into him. He reaches up and fists a hand in his hair, giving it a good, hard tug and grinning when Flint moans. “Fuck,” he says again, twisting his fingers cruelly in Flint’s soft hair. It _hurts_ , what they’re doing, but it also feels so good it’s unreal. 

“John,” Flint gasps, his fingers tightening where they’re gripping Silver’s left thigh, digging in such that he’s sure he’ll be bruised. Flint comes, then, and Silver can feel it within him - feel the moment Flint’s essence leaves him and finds in Silver a new, welcoming home. 

Silver gets a hand between them and gives himself a few rough strokes, then comes over his fist with a shuddering sigh of pleasure. He makes a noise of loss when Flint pulls free of him, only realizing he’s closed his eyes at some point when he feels Flint gently wiping a tear away from each. Silver opens his eyes then and looks up at Flint, then quickly away, suddenly bashful despite the deep intimacy of what they’ve just done. He hadn’t realized he was crying - they’re not tears of pain or sadness, either, but something much more vulnerable. 

“Overwhelmed?” Flint asks, running the tip of his tongue over his fingers as though to taste the saltwater of Silver’s tears. 

“Pleasantly so, yes,” Silver murmurs, and shifts in the bed, turning and budging over so that they might lie down properly next to one another. He clears his throat. “Thank you. For the— for piercing my ears.”

Flint chuckles as he settles in next to Silver, stretching his legs out with a quiet moan of contentment. “You’re quite welcome. Keep the earrings in for a while before you get new ones, wouldn’t want the holes to close,” he says, wiping the mess off Silver’s belly with one hand and licking his fingers clean, making all coherent thoughts vanish from Silver’s mind for a moment. 

“I don’t intend to get new ones,” Silver says when he can speak again, folding his arms behind his head. He doesn’t completely understand why, but a part of him revels in the idea of keeping Flint’s jewelry in his flesh forever. For the rest of this life, however long it may last. 

After that night, Silver begins to think there’s very little Flint could do to surprise him. They know each other so intimately, so thoroughly and completely, that some of the crew claim with absolute seriousness that they can read one another’s minds. It isn’t true of course, but it may as well be. 

Then, Flint, in a fit of rage or devastation or grief - perhaps a blind tempest of all three and more - does something that truly shocks Silver. 

He comes to find him in his cabin of an evening and when he catches sight of him, freezes. It can’t be, but it is: Flint has cut off all his hair. The auburn locks Silver so loved to bury his face in and twine around his fingers are gone, leaving only a dark red-brown stubble in their place. Flint is facing away from Silver, staring, brooding, out at the dark sea beyond the windows of his cabin. He’s silhouetted in moonlight, broad-shouldered and still, and appears to Silver like Samson, with the source of his strength gone. 

“What have you _done_?” Silver implores him, mouth agape and his eyes wide, before he can stop himself. 

Flint whips around, visibly startled. For all his gentle teasing about how no one could possibly miss Silver coming up behind them anymore, he clearly hadn’t heard him enter the cabin. 

“You say that as though I’ve utterly ruined myself,” he quips dryly. “If you’ve only come here to make your particular brand of trouble, John, then please go. I am as far as one can be from the state of mind to enjoy it.”

“I came here to see you, to ask— to talk to you,” Silver says, shifting his weight from his false leg to his flesh-and-blood one, then back. He’s forgotten now what he was going to say he was there for - really, he’s come to reassure himself that Flint hasn’t drowned in the swift current of his grief. “And, now, to beat the shit out of whoever had the audacity to give you that awful haircut,” he mutters. 

“I asked for it,” Flint says brusquely, striding to his bed and stretching out on his back, idly rubbing one hand over his newly shorn head as Silver watches. “I haven’t had so little hair in...years,” he says, his voice soft, contemplative. 

Silver hesitantly joins him, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching a hand out, then drawing it back. Reaching out again, drawing back again, until at last his courage doesn’t fail him and he runs a hand over what remains of Flint’s fiery, beautiful hair. 

“I will miss it,” he says truthfully. “I can’t pull this properly, can’t get my fingers in it like I used to,” he says, wistful, though the sensation of Flint’s short bristly hair on his skin is undeniably pleasant. 

“You’ll live,” Flint assures him on a weary sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing his head a little on Silver’s palm, like a cat being patted. 

“Yes, but what sort of life? To what end? You’ve robbed me of one of my favorite pastimes,” Silver complains airily, biting back a little grin. 

Flint snorts and opens his eyes, and there’s a small, indulgent smile curving his lips when he looks at Silver. 

“You’re awful,” he says with obvious affection. “Perhaps you ought to grow out your hair, then, even more than you already have. To make up for what I now lack.”

“Mm, methinks this a somewhat self-serving suggestion, Captain,” Silver purrs while he stretches out next to Flint in the bed, only slightly awkward as he maneuvers his left leg. “Given how much you enjoy pulling _my_ hair. It’s a wonder I haven’t a bald patch by now, really,” he muses. 

“Come here,” Flint says suddenly, eyes dark with something even Silver can’t quite read, and reaches for him. 

Silver goes, and slides his way down Flint’s body, shimmying on his belly. He does his best to distract him, then, and when he feels Flint’s fingers twisting and clenching hard in his curls, hears him shout and curse above him, it’s like absolution. 

He didn’t intend for any of this to happen - he didn’t mean to wind up in Flint’s bed any more than he meant to become John Silver in the first place. But now that he is, now that he’s here and he’s John and John is Flint’s, he wonders why he ever bothered to be anyone else.


End file.
